


The Homestead

by loveisgravity



Series: Smut [1]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 05:03:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15526635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveisgravity/pseuds/loveisgravity
Summary: The Homestead may be rough around the edges, but Waverly tries to show Nicole the hidden beauty there, too.





	The Homestead

**Author's Note:**

> I may have been a little inspired by a recent EFA podcast...

“We should tear down that old fence.” Nicole says as she steps up behind and wraps her arms around Waverly’s shoulders. They are standing on the front porch of the homestead. “Put up one that will hold in dogs.”

Waverly looks over the land, and sighs.

There’s a grittiness in the air at the homestead. Like a faint taste of salt from the flats nearby. It’s a dry sandy edge, a long-lost ocean leaving behind seashells on a landlocked landscape. The trees are scroungier here, the grass browner, more sparse. That rough and worn feeling of the homestead is what Waverly loves most particularly about it. If she squints hard enough, it turns to history, and she is immersed in it. 

Wynonna doesn’t appreciate the tired fence, the weathered white wash feeling of the homestead, that’s why she finds excuses to leave. She always wanted to leave. But Waverly understands the need radiating from the land. Not a need to be repaired, no. Not fixed, that is impossible, and more importantly, unimportant. It is a need to be appreciated, a need to be valued. 

That is the beauty of history. That’s what Waverly understands about the homestead. And now she wants to show it to Nicole. 

“I like the old fence. I know it doesn’t do much but just stand there. But it’s perfect for this place. It fits.” She says, spinning around to face Nicole. She places a delicate kiss to her lips, then sits back on the porch railing.

Brave, sweet Nicole. The beautifully open-book, Nicole. She can’t hide her skepticism anymore than she can hide the desire flaming in her eyes. Nicole looks out from the porch and she sees a barn with gaps in the walls large enough to make it the world’s biggest sieve. She sees a fence line with slats sagging and gray with age. Bleached whale bones just waiting for the slow decay of time to erase them.

Waverly sees an integrity too proud to fall. The land is an Earp, after all. There’s strength there, that no one could possibly see to its depth. 

But Waverly isn’t stupid, she knows the best way to teach Nicole is to lead by example.

Waverly takes Nicole’s hand and leads her off the porch. She releases the hand and skips ahead, the gravel as sound under Waverly’s cowboy boots as the narrow barn beam was under her feet when she walked across it. It was a proof, to Willa- a proof of loyalty, but to Waverly, it was a proof of belonging.

The gravel driveway is that now. Practically dancing her way over it, it is proof of her belonging because she doesn’t fall. 

Nicole follows closely behind at a steady pace. Waverly is adventure, the best kind, and Nicole knows to keep up or risk losing her entirely. So she follows.

The wind whips around in Waverly’s hair, flying free. Her flowing skirt threatens to lift and it exhilarates her. She looks back coyly over her shoulder at Nicole walking behind. Suddenly, Waverly reaches under her skirt and pulls down her panties. Shimmying them over her boots, she kicks them free and trots away. 

Nicole picks up her pace. 

She reaches Waverly at the fence line. Stepping in behind her, Nicole already knows how well she fits in to Waverly’s body. Pulling her hands up the slender, sweater-covered arms at her sides, Nicole leans her mouth in against Waverly’s ear.

“What are you thinking?” The words are as much an invitation as they are a question.

“I’m thinking about all this, you and me, our home, birthright and curse.” Waverly is looking out to the tree line, but tilts her head away to give Nicole’s lips greater access.

“What do you see?” Nicole asks, as she skirts her lips down the elegant plain of Waverly’s neck.

“I see so much beauty. All the small imperfections building upon each other to create this cascading flow of nature.” 

“You’re into poetry?”

“No, it’s more than that.” Waverly holds her breath a moment. “It’s life. Everything here is filled with it.” 

Nicole hums as she reaches the curve of shoulder, then travels back up, feeling the rocky terrain of goosebumps awakened by her touch. “I can feel the life here, too.” She grins into Waverly’s neck, the pulse jumping beneath her lips.

Waverly only half acknowledges Nicole’s joke with a slight grin. Then it drops from her face as a more serious expression blossoms. Nicole’s hands are on Waverly’s hips, holding her into the warmth behind her.

Nicole’s heat is welcome in this breeze. It sets Waverly flying. Resting her palm on Nicole’s hand, she guides it just under the sweater, to bare skin and homeland. 

Waverly feels as much as she hears the sigh against her neck. She releases the hand to wander on its own, and lifts her arms in the air, stretching out her back. The breeze plays across the skin revealed by Nicole’s hand, the hollow of her skirt and nothing else beneath. She is touched everywhere.

“Don’t you see the beauty of it?” Waverly asks.

Nicole pushes her hand up the hill of breast. “Yes.” The flippancy is gone. 

“Good.” Waverly holds her hands out, giving Nicole the freedom to roam. 

Nicole’s other hand pushes under the top band of Waverly’s skirt. 

Nicole will never take, and so Waverly gives. She gives in to the smooth skin of Nicole’s fingers stretching down, exploring the hidden curves of her stomach. Waverly arches her back, giving Nicole more skin to explore on her path down, over the soft curve of pubic bone, then falling away into her folds. 

Waverly growls out. Her body stretched between breast and labia. Two hands pulling in different directions. Then the lips, the mouth and tongue on her neck. She is a house divided, and falls willingly into Nicole steady arms, holding her body upright and firmly against her. 

“Fence.” She gasps. “I need your mouth.” Waverly calls out.

Nicole pauses her hands to better understand Waverly’s request. Waverly steps out from her embrace and shakily climbs up to the top of the fence, then turns to face Nicole, her hips resting on the edge of the wooden slat. 

Waverly spreads her legs open. Another invitation. The rough grain of the wooden fence, the shadows in the trees behind her, the skirt pulled back, and the cowboy boots propped up all frame Waverly perfectly. And there is nothing Nicole could possibly want more. Not even air is as important as this, Waverly completely open before her, for her. 

Nicole steps up, braces her hands around the skirt covered hips, and pushes her mouth onto Waverly’s folds. The scent of Waverly, delicate and yet heady, draws her in. Waverly is ready, wet and swollen, so that Nicole’s tongue easily finds it course to her clitoris. The tight curls surrounding her tickle Nicole’s nose and brush against her cheeks. They are her own rough grain, the leaves protecting her tree, as soft, yet stubborn, as Waverly herself. 

Waverly braces her hands on Nicole’s shoulders, holding herself upright. She wants to pull her in deeper, but it’s enough to be balanced there, on the rail, on the edge. She allows Nicole the freedom to touch, to explore, without her guidance. Just to be present with her. Nicole’s traveling tongue turns her inside out; she dances over her tip, learns every crease and fold.

Waverly grips the sturdy shoulders tightly. Balanced on the beam, Waverly realizes the only way to bring herself closer, is to spread herself even more open, offer herself even more to this beautiful woman. 

Waverly cries out as Nicole reads her like a book and presses in. 

As Waverly builds toward climax, Nicole takes greater care in her movements, not altering, not deviating, her tongue as dependable as her, despite the strain, despite the burn, taking pleasure in the giving, overwhelmed by the display.

“Don’t stop.” Pleads Waverly. And Nicole won’t, ever. She won’t stop, even to tell her she won’t stop. She presses on, relentless, unwavering, until Waverly breaks around her. Hands engulf Nicole’s head, and she rocks into Nicole’s mouth instinctively.

Afterward, Nicole keeps her face close, unwilling to let her go just yet, still wanting to breathe in the trust, the release. Her back aches, her mouth is sore, but she is impossibly happy. The wind circles them and Nicole looks up into Waverly’s eyes. 

They smile as she brushes her thumbs over Nicole’s cheek and chin, wiping off her moisture. Nicole pulls herself up onto the bottom rung of the fence between Waverly’s legs and gently kisses her. Waverly wraps her arms around her shoulders and holds her tight. 

“This is a surprisingly strong fence.” Nicole says, impressed. Waverly beams. “You know, I always thought it would be fun to try this on a porch swing.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have to admit that writing smut is much more challenging than writing a sex scene in an established story. So I’m using you all to work out my kinks. :)


End file.
